


i am also a we

by restless5oul



Series: yesterday we were just children [2]
Category: Formula 1 RPF, GP2 Series RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Bonding, Developing Friendships, Everyone is still sad, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Nightmares, bonding through music, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 11:32:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11758956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restless5oul/pseuds/restless5oul
Summary: he starts on the outside, but somehow ends up very much on the inside.(or three occasions that taught charles that he belonged).





	1. juan.

**Author's Note:**

> charles only feels coldness from juan.  
> juan only senses distance from charles.
> 
>  
> 
> (title is from sense8)

Charles learnt how to navigate this new world slowly but surely, adapting. At the same time, the other three boys learnt how to add a fourth person to their group. In some ways it was easier; no one had to be left alone anymore when two left, a new face gave them stories to share, it broke up the monotony of their new daily routine. But in other ways it was so much harder; there were more mouths to feed, more people to take care of, to worry about, and it took them time to adjust.

Charles spent most of his first fortnight staying with them feeling like an intruder. Purposely moving on the fringes, trying not to barge in where he wasn’t welcome. There wasn’t the same easiness between him and everyone else, none of the familiarity that they had with each other. He mostly kept to himself, half scared that they didn’t want him there but couldn’t bring themselves to ask him to leave. For a little while, he was even convinced that Juan hated him.

It was often just the two of them left alone while Mick and Jüri go out for more food. On account of the fact that Charles didn’t know how to use the gun, and Juan was a pretty bad shot.Still they were left with a rifle to defend themselves, if needs be, even knowing that it wouldn’t do them much good. It wasn't that he was nasty to Charles, though he could send a very dirty look his way if he wanted, he just got the sense that his presence was rather unwelcome.

“You don’t talk much do you?” Juan asked him once, his words blunt and his voice loud. Charles was sat on the opposite side of the room, his knees drawn into his chest, a book propped up against them, curled up rather uncomfortably on a small sofa. He was never much of a reader, but the apocalypse had turned him into a bookworm.

“I…” Charles felt caught off guard. Out of all of them, him and Juan seemed least able to gel. If it was ever just him and Jüri, or him and Mick, for a few moments he could feel those tentative first bonds of friendship begin to form. But when it was him and Juan, all he sensed was hostility from the other boy. So he kept his distance.

It was funny, he had never been a quiet kid, or a shy teenager. But something about the Ecuadorian made him feel awkward.

“I just don’t want to…butt in,” he explained lamely, folding over the corner of the page he was on, the expression on Juan’s face indicating to him that this was going to be a full blown conversation rather than a throwaway comment.

“I mean, you’re living with us now, so we’re a bit past that,” Juan shrugged, actually getting up and walking over to Charles, leaning against the desk next to him so he had to crane his neck to see his face.

“I suppose,” Charles also shrugged. He sensed that this was something Juan had been dying to talk about for a while.

“It’s not because you don’t like me is it?” he eventually said, the stonier look on his face softening with vulnerability, making him look younger.

“No!” Charles was quick to defend himself, before he paused and admitted what he himself had been fearing, “I thought you didn’t like me.”

“Don’t be daft!” Juan looked as incredulous as his suggestion as Charles had. They both seemed to realise this at the same time, the sudden awareness making them both smile shyly. Their smiles grew to grins in their shared amusement as themselves.

“Clearly there’s been some miscommunication,” Juan mused, and Charles hummed in agreement. He wasn’t sure whether to offer up the reason for his distance, and Juan spoke up before he could decide.

“It’s not that I’m jealous of you or anything. Well, maybe a little. But it’s nothing personal. It’s just like, having it be just me, Jüri and Mick, it was like having something from before everything went to shit. And it’s not your fault, but having you here changes things, and it’s not the same as it was before.”

Despite Juan’s assurances, Charles couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. Having ran from his home with just the clothes on his back – which were mostly ruined apart from his shoes – he had nothing to remind him of where he had come from. And maybe that reality just hit Juan harder, and the spaces left by the people he had lost couldn’t be filled with physical objects.

“It just makes everything seem more real,” Charles said, really it was a question, but it wasn’t phrased as such because he already knew the answer.

“Exactly,” Juan agreed, his voice quiet, before he cleared his throat and spoke up, “I think I thought you knew that, and you didn’t like me for it.”

“I didn’t,” Charles shook his head and took a deep breath that sounded more like a sigh, “I just never wanted to intrude on you three. I’m not here because you want me to be, and you guys have known each other so long, I just feel like I’m not, well, going to fit in. I don’t want to be where I’m not welcome.”

Juan pulled a face, his mouth twisting, nose scrunching up a little, like he was thinking really hard. Blowing out a long breath of air he motioned for Charles to move up, and took the seat next to him after he swung his legs out of the way.

“Well you’re not intruding,” was all he said, with such finality that Charles couldn’t do anything but believe him.

He just looked sideways at the boy next to him, who was making himself comfortable, propping his feet up on the desk, stretching out. He couldn’t quite get a handle on Juan who could swing from jokey to unfriendly to sullen in a matter of seconds. The boy who had offered zero sympathy to Mick when he’d cut his hand during one of their explorations of the vast hotel, just rolling his eyes impatiently as he’d wrapped his hand in an oversized bandage. That boy was the same that Charles had seen tickling Jüri’s sides until he cried with laughter whenever his mood was low, and who gave everyone else larger helpings of dinner than his own. It didn’t quite add up in his head. But the extremes of their situations brought out the worst and the best in everyone.

“What were you reading?” Juan asked, twisting his neck to try get a look at the book on Charles’ lap.

“Oh,  _Brave New World_. I’m not exactly spoilt for choice.”

 “Sounds pretty apt. What’s it about?”

“I don’t know; I’ve just started it.”

They ended up sitting, side by side, the book propped up between them, heads bent together as they read in unison, only jumping apart when they heard the familiar sound of Mick and Jüri clambering through the window; Juan returning to his spot on the opposite side of the room like their exchange had never happened.

Charles did notice a drop in the tension between the two of them, though it didn't soften things instantly or completely. If Mick or Jüri noticed they didn’t say anything. But something had clicked all the same.


	2. jüri.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> where words fail music speaks.

“You don’t have to do this, really,” Charles said for what had to be the hundredth time since Jüri had picked up the shotgun and insisted that it was time Charles learnt how to use it.

“Stop saying that. You can’t be the only one of us that doesn’t know. Even Juan can pick it up and have a go,” he waved Charles’ words away as he led him into a large room on the second floor.

Charles had been in there once before when Mick had given him a tour of the hotel during his first week there, but he hadn’t been back since and had forgotten how impressive it was. It had clearly been a function room of sorts when the hotel had been running, or perhaps a second dining room. The high ornate ceilings, the now dusty chandelier that hung from it, and the echoing dark wood floor spoke of a lost grandeur that had faded with age and disrepair. Scanning the walls Charles could see lines of holes where it had obviously been used for target practice, sparingly however, as they had only a limited amount of bullets. It was colder than the dining room they had set up camp in, on account of the huge window which was stuck open, and they couldn’t slam shut no matter how hard they tried.

“You ever held a gun before?” Jüri asked, placing the weapon in question down on a large, heavy looking cloth which was draped over a huge mass of furniture, which would have been recognisable had Charles not been able to see the unmistakable feet and pedals of a grand piano that were uncovered. 

Charles shook his head, filled with trepidation as Jüri handed it over, using his own hands to position it correctly against his shoulder, moving Charles’ arms so it held steady and he wouldn’t drop it the moment he pulled the trigger. It was heavier than Charles expected, and the cold metal felt foreign and uncomfortable against the hot skin of his hands.

Jüri seemed to sense his hesitation because he tried smiling at Charles, in what he seemed to hope was a reassuring way, but came off looking goofier than anything else. It did the trick though, because Charles struggled to hold in a laugh, feeling himself subconsciously relax a little. Out of the three boys, Jüri was by the far the easiest to get along with, Charles had learnt. Not necessarily because Mick and Juan were difficult (though that could be the case), but because he had an openess and an innocence that Charles was surprised he hadn’t lost. Even in himself he had felt a cold hardness that hadn’t been there two months ago. It was one he saw reflected in Juan and Mick’s eyes every time there was a close call if they ventured outside of the hotel, and every time they heard strange noises that only seemed to materialise at night.

Jüri didn’t seem to live with a millstone around his neck. Or maybe he just hid it really well.

“You have to take the safety off before it’ll work,” Jüri was explaining, flicking a small switch on the side of the gun, using Charles’ thumb to do so, making sure he was watching.

Just as he was getting to his explanation about aiming, which would eventually lead to the shooting part – the most important portion of his lesson that both scared and thrilled Charles – there was an almighty crash from below one. So loud it almost made Charles drop the heavy shotgun. The sound was followed by two shouting voices, then a pause, and the unmistakable sound of Juan calling Jüri’s name. From the whining tone of their friend's voice it sounded more like Jüri was being asked to play mediator in some argument, than asked to help with something serious.

“I’ll be back. Stay here, I won’t be five minutes,” Jüri said, rolling his eyes, though there was a fondness in them as he did so. And suddenly Charles was left alone, the shotgun hanging low in his arms. Quickly, he flicked the safety back on and put it down on the nearest table, still unsure about how it felt to hold something that could do so much damage. 

Unwillingly, he thought back to the loud cracking sound the zombie’s neck had made as he had swung and hit it, making its head spin almost one hundred and eighty degrees. Suppressing a shudder, Charles shook his head, walking over to the grand piano that had caught his attention the first time he had seen the room. 

With a tug he pulled away the dust sheet, the almost black wood of the piano underneath still shining, despite its obvious age and disuse. It was nothing like the electric keyboard his mother had taught him to play on, that probably still sat in his bedroom, if it hadn’t been ransacked by either zombies or desperate survivors looking for food.

Still it reminded him of all the lessons he’d had as a child when he sat at the chair, carefully lifting the lid to reveal the ivory keys underneath. When he’d been stuck inside the apartment with Pierre, nothing but what was within their four walls to keep them occupied, he had taught himself to play almost every song from his father’s (admittedly very limited) CD collection – having long forgot how to read music, and relying on crudely copying the songs by ear. He didn’t think he was much good, but playing helped him clear his mind and forget the mess that raged on around him.

Pressing one of his index fingers to a key shyly, he felt an unexpected shiver run up his spine at the sound, ringing out proudly into the cavernous room. He pressed out a meaningless string of notes, letting them hover in the air, before they faded and disappeared, like they’d never been there at all.

“Do you play?” a voice said from behind Charles, making him jump, his hand accidentally hitting the piano as he whipped his head around, a clanging set of notes ringing out. It was only Jüri who stood by the door, watching him with an interested expression.

“Sort of,” Charles shrugged, feeling oddly embarrassed, like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t, “Is everything alright downstairs?”

“Yeah they’re fine,” Jüri said with a little laugh. He made his way over the Charles, moving to lean on the piano so that he now towered over him, “Can you play something?”

If it had been anyone else Charles would have probably refused, but there was something in Jüri’s eyes that made him not want to deny him this. If his mother had worked in this hotel, then maybe he had seen the piano being played countless times before, and maybe for a couple of minutes Charles could take him back to a time they all longed for.

He played the first song that came to mind, and it wasn’t until a few lines in that he recognised the tune, his hands seeming to move independently of his mind. It was a little clumsy, his fingers clunking a little, his face scrunched up in concentration, determined to make it all the way through. He didn’t sing along as he played, to save himself the embarrassment, and to save Jüri from having to listen to his voice, nor did he look up until he had finished, the smile on Jüri’s face making him pleased and flustered all at once. 

“You’re good,” he complimented genuinely, moving to sit next to Charles on the stool, “What was that song called?”

“ _Non, je ne regrette rien_ ,” the French sounded familiar and strange all at once, after so much time of communicating solely in English, “It was one of the first songs my mum taught me once I was good enough.”

“Can you play anything else?” Jüri asked, looking quite excited by this new form of entertainment they seemed to have found.

“Only songs I know. I can’t read music anymore; I just play by ear.”

“If I sang you a song would you be able to play it?”

Charles was surprised at the request, but he didn’t see why not.

“I suppose so.”

His answer seemed to satisfy the boy sat to his left, who cleared his throat theatrically.

“But you can’t laugh, I’m not a very good singer.”

“Me neither. No judgment here.”

Charles listened as Jüri began to sing, his voice a little flat and wobbly, but the words he sang – which Charles guessed were Estonian – were clearly committed to his memory. They sat for God knows how long as Jüri would sing a line and Charles would attempt to replicate the melody on the piano. Through a lot of trial and error they made their way through the whole song enough times that the two of them could play it the whole way through, Jüri singing, Charles accompanying him.

Though he didn’t have a clue what the words meant, the song felt a little melancholic to Charles, but there was something about the way Jüri sang it that told him it was mostly hopeful. It made him feel a million miles away from a deserted hotel in the middle of a wasteland.

“What’s the song about?” he asked Jüri as they finished a full run through.

“It’s called _ta lendab mesipuu poole_ , which means ‘he flies towards the beehive’. But it’s really about like, rising above and battling through. And returning home,” Jüri explained, looking a little shier than he had a moment ago. Charles knew where his mind was; thinking about people that he didn’t even know were alive anymore, and places that might not even exist. 

“Once more?” he asked, seeming to snap out of his thoughts.

“Sure.”

This time, the end of their duet was met by soft applause, and the two of them turned round to see Mick and Juan standing side by side, in the doorway just as Jüri had been earlier.

“Do you take requests?” Juan asked, grinning, to which Jüri responded by sticking his tongue out at him.

“You’ve been ages,” Mick said ignoring the previous exchange, entering the room, Juan following behind.

“We thought you were teaching Charles how to shoot, not conducting a concert,” Juan said, rolling his eyes as though as he was exasperated at the two of them, but they could see that there was no genuine malice behind his actions. He used his hands to hoist himself up onto the piano, his legs dangling.

“We got distracted,” Jüri said, shrugging, clearly not too bothered at being stumbled upon, though Charles was feeling a little embarrassed. Knowing Mick and Juan had heard him play felt a little different to Jüri for some reason.

“Will you play something for all of us?” Mick asked, sliding down the side of the piano so he sat cross legged on the hard floor. For a moment Charles thought he was teasing, but the look in his eyes and the half-nervous smile he wore told him he was being serious. Escaping for a little while into a place where he only had to worry about what note came next had made him feel a little better, a little lighter. And who was he to deny that to the rest of them? Cabin fever had well and truly set in, and they deserved any relief they could get.

“Yeah okay,” Charles said, placing his hands atop the keys again.

“Aha! So you do take requests!” Juan said, making them all laugh, for what was probably the first time in too long for their young age.


	3. mick.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lately they've started to share nightmares and fears too.

Since that very first night, most evenings ended with Mick offering to take the first watch, and Charles inevitably ending up sat beside him when sleep wouldn’t come. He didn’t know whether it was because he was afraid of what he would see if he did close his eyes, or the pure stress that stopped his mind from unwinding, or the simple feeling of being alone. 

Mostly they would sit in silence as they read, until Charles eventually fell asleep, his head falling onto his arms there at the table, that blissful dreamless sleep coming only when exhaustion set in. Usually Mick would wake him and push him in the direction of the sofa which was now his bed, though on a couple of occasions Charles had woken the next morning to find himself alone at the table, a blanket draped around his back that had not been there before. Sometimes they would talk quietly, trying not to wake the two boys that slept just feet away, but reminiscing and remembering tended to be exhausting, there was nothing that didn't remind them of the lives they had lost. It still ended with Charles falling asleep where he sat.

Never had Charles stayed awake long enough to see Mick fall asleep. Though he assumed he had to sleep some time, he always seemed to stay awake much longer than him. He guessed he had the same problem Charles did – a fear of sleep so deep it could keep him going for far longer than should be humanly possible.

Sat in their usual places, Charles on the left, and Mick on the right, he looked up to see the large grandfather clock in the corner of the room telling him that it was way past midnight. Looking down at the crinkled pages of the book he read, the tiny blank print of the words swam before his eyes, and he was about to tell Mick that he thought it was time for him to head to bed, but to his surprise, he saw that the German was dozing lightly. His hands were trapped beneath his head, his face turned towards Charles, a soft expression of vague annoyance and confusion etched upon his features.

Charles supposed a few more pages couldn’t hurt him. It was only other hour or so until he would have to wake Juan for his turn at the night shift, waiting and listening out for intruders and disturbances that never came. Desperately trying to keep his stinging eyes open, he wondered how Mick did it, though if his current state of sleep was anything to go by, it had clearly taken its toll on him.

He contemplated fetching a blanket, watching the blonde hairs atop Mick’s head being ruffled by the perpetual draught in the room. The large room had a tendency to be very cold at night, even when it was relatively warm outside, and Charles was already feeling goosebumps starting to form on his bare forearms.

Just as he got up, preparing to tiptoe as quietly as he could in the direction of the nearest blanket, his attention was immediately drawn to a soft sound that he couldn’t quite make out. His senses suddenly heightened he froze, the soft material of the blanket fisted in one of his hands, his chest heaving as he tried to hold his breath, straining his ears to listen.

“ _Papa_ ,” came the sound again, and it became immediately apparent that the source of the noise was Mick. Turning back Charles saw that the soft look on his face had grown more intense, more distressed; his brow now furrowed, and his lips pressed together in a thin line, the movement of his jaw indicating that he was grinding his teeth.

Trying to move as quickly as he could without making too much noise, Charles knelt by Mick’s side. He watched for a moment, unsure of what to do, as he continued to whisper almost incoherently, his voice becoming ever more distressed, his breathing shallow and rapid.

“Mick,” he said softly, shaking his shoulder experimentally, the blanket still in his grasp. It didn’t seem to have any effect on Mick, the pained expression on his face making Charles ache in sympathy.

“Mick,” he tried again, his voice and little louder, his hand a little firmer. This time it worked, Mick’s eyes flew open, but there was still deep set panic inside them, as he sat up quickly, his gaze darting around the dark room, like he was looking for something that wasn’t there. It wasn’t frantic way he was breathing or his chest heaving as he struggled to get his heart rate under control that broke Charles’ heart, but the tears that had spilled from his eyes onto his cheeks.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he hoped his voice sounded soothing, as he knelt up, hand still on Mick’s shoulder as he tried to get him to look him in the eyes.

Out of the four of them, Mick always seemed so steady, always with an answer, a smile on his lips and a glint in his eyes, it was jarring to see him so upset. Whatever he had seen in the depths of his mind had rattled the reliable persona he tried so hard to uphold.

“Oh. Charles,” he muttered, like he had only just realised that he was even there at all, finally looking him in the eye. Mick pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, but all that did was suppress the sound of a choked sob that worked its way from the back of his throat.

Feeling like it was the right thing to do Charles worked his arms around Mick’s shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug, his head resting on his shoulder as he buried his face in his hands. Making hushed shushing noises, Charles rubbed his hand across his back trying to calm him down. Mick didn’t say anything, the only sound from his mouth was a few hiccupping sniffles, like he was trying very hard to stop himself from crying. His shallow breaths fanned across Charles’ shoulders, tickling the exposed skin, hot where he could feel it through his shirt. They stayed that way for a while, until Mick's heartbeat slowed so it was in time with Charles', and he could feel that he had stopped trembling in Charles' arms.

“I’m sorry,” Mick whispered, pulling back, wiping at his face furiously. The hard floor was making Charles’ knees ache, so he ungracefully clambered to his feet, pulling his chair nearer to his friend before taking a seat.

“It’s okay,” Charles said again, unsure what he was doing when he reached his hand out and placed it on Mick’s leg, trying anything his mind could think of to calm him down, to let him know that he wasn’t alone. His red cheeks and puffy eyes reminded Charles just how young he was, how young they all were. The past few months had made them feel and look so much older, but really they were just kids, playing pretend at being adults. They didn’t have a clue what they were doing.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked tentatively, hesitant about whether Mick would want to tell him something so personal. Out of the three boys Charles had noticed that he was the least forthcoming when it came to sharing personal information. Jüri, knowing the hotel the best out of any of them, having spent many days there as a child when his mother was working and couldn’t find someone to take care of him, was always offering up anecdotes and stories when they seemed to come to him. And he wasn’t shy about his hopes that his mother had made it out alive, and was somewhere in the world, living like they were. Even Juan, who could grow defensive and cold at the mention of his parents, was always telling Charles how much he sounded like his mother if he ever suggested something, or how Mick reminded him of his father when he tried to take charge. If he was in a better mood and the four of them were sat with nothing to do, he seemed to enjoy teaching the three of them random phrases in Spanish, which Charles assumed were largely inappropriate by the way it seemed to make him laugh so much.

Mick rarely talked in such terms. Maybe it was because Juan and Jüri already knew all that stuff about him, and he didn’t feel like he could trust Charles with it. Or maybe he just preferred not to think about it.

Initially, Mick shook his head quickly, and Charles snatched his hand away, sitting back, suddenly feeling intrusive and wrong for having asked. But he seemed to change his mind rather suddenly.

“I just hate not knowing what’s going on,” he mumbled, his voice still shaky, “I don’t even know what’s happening right outside our door, let alone what’s going on back home. It’s not even like I wish I was there with them – I mean I do – but I’d take just knowing if they’re alright, that’s all I want.”

Charles sighed lightly, watching as Mick wiped away another tear that had made its home on his cheek. He felt exactly the same, he suspected they all did.

“Your parents?” he asked, though he assumed that was who he meant by ‘they’.

“Mhm. And my sister. It just fucking sucks, they’re so far away, I can’t even think when I’ll get to see them again. Or if I ever will,” he huffed, hitting his hand on the table, an action he seemed to realise was petulant by the expression on his face after he did it. Charles didn’t hold it against him though.

“You have a sister?” Charles asked, surprised, he didn’t think he’d heard Mick mention her once. But then again, he didn’t like to talk about Pierre often, as much as he loved him, it just hurt too much.

“Mm, she’s just over a year older than me,” was all he said, and Charles didn’t push him for a name, or any more information, he didn’t owe him that.

“I have nightmares too sometimes,” Charles admitted, chewing his teeth into his bottom lip, the personal admission making him feel exposed. Frowning, he tried not to let his mind linger on the images of his parents drowning in a sea of people, or Pierre shouting his name as Charles left him, knowing he might not make it out alive. It was like a film reel stuffed in his mind that played on repeat every time he closed his eyes, “It’s why I don’t sleep so well.”

“Same.”

They sat for a while, Mick’s eyes downcast as his fingers fumbled together, twisting nervously. Charles watched as the last of the panicked energy seemed to melt away from him, the exhaustion returning.

“You should get some more sleep,” he suggested, watching as Mick’s head snapped up, ready to protest, “It’s only an hour until Juan’s turn, I can stay up until then.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Mick stood, taking the blanket which Charles held out to him.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, reaching down to squeeze Charles’ shoulder in a gesture of both affection and gratitude, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Mick’s words rang out again and again in his ears, as Charles watched him settle down onto the sofa, wrapping the blanket around his thin frame. Feeling a rush of fondness towards, not just Mick, but the three boys he now shared his life with, he picked up the book again, glad too that it had been them he had found, and they who had found him.


End file.
